Saturday, August 4, 2012


Saturday morning, still in my pajamas, luxuriating in the chance to rest, I'm...

seeing: blind-shadows on our dove-gray walls, an assertive rectangle here, a faded shadow there, all with their signature horizontal bars of light and dark; through the doorway into the kitchen, with its east-facing window, I see the brighter splashes of light falling over stove and floor--four terra cotta pots of herbs interrupt the window's angled square of light on the dark laminate, reminding it of their whispy-leafy shapes

hearing: the occasional passing of cars on the street, bumping over a pothole; neighbors' lawnmowers; a curious weekend stillness

smelling: steel-cut oats offering up their curls of oaty steam; rosemary, sage, thyme, and mint when I rub my fingers across their leaves; pepperminty castille soap from the dispensers I've refilled

tasting: oatmeal with peanut butter and maple syrup; the promise of beets with mint and feta later today; tall cups of black tea

feeling: 50-degree mornings (welcome, late summer in the north!); the weight of a down duvet in its homemade cover; amazed at the thought that the semester begins in just a month; mostly ready

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